


Clown thoughts

by Sevvyhonda



Category: Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: (Yes there are multiple), Caliborn is implied but the bastard is still kind of there, Just a short thing i wrote at midnight, Offscreen murders, Tiny cloun baby starts to think about his place in the world, minor mentions of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 12:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16387904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sevvyhonda/pseuds/Sevvyhonda
Summary: I wonder why that clown kid has a gold tooth...





	Clown thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> This might turn into my dumping ground for 2 am Karako headcanon drabbles. For now, have this little existential crisis. My Karako rp blog is cl0wnh0rns.tumblr.com, so message me there if you want more.

The voices were getting louder. They were loud enough to drown out every thought he had. They were coming back now, seemingly prompted by him just thinking about them. Karako slammed his head into a nearby tree to shut them up. He needs to think for a minute. 

They’d been screaming for years now, bursting out when he’d get magnanimously pissed and black out. The black-out rage didn’t stop until the target was dead, he’d learned after being out for three weeks and waking up facedown in a ditch covered in blood. He could kind of stop it if he felt it coming on. Pain usually worked, so he’d end up slamming his fist into something hard enough to bruise. Sometimes his head if they were really strong. 

Recently though, he’d been seeing visions. In his sleep, visions of a massive skeletal creature surrounded by swirls. His mirthful eyes swam with every color of the rainbow, his vast coat displaying the blood of everyone he’d killed. All those fucking heretics. He turned to Karako, a tiny speck compared to him, and smiled. A wicked, torn up smile. Like he’d just found a long-lost enemy. 

The massive messiah opened his palm, and Karako never felt the urge to run as it was slowly brought down to his level and closed into a tight fist around him. 

And then he would wake up in a puddle of blood. Sometimes it was his own, but rarely. More often than not it was of a more pink shade than his own purple, not quite fuchsia but close. Sometimes it would dip into the blues. 

Never the reds, for some reason. Maybe the messiah had other plans for their wicked asses. Karako sat down in the soft grass and continued thinking, flipping his favorite left-handed knife. 

Whoever it was, they must be a part of him. Those spirals scarred into his body since he was born- that gold tooth. It was too similar to be coincidence. Karako knew he wasn’t the messiah. Only an idiot would think that. He’s weak, he’s tiny, he’s terrible with people. He couldn’t create the vast honk even if he tried. So...

Did the messiahs choose him? He knew he should hope that was the case, but... in all honesty, he hated killing people. They didn’t deserve it. He knew they’d get their reckoning when the honk comes, so he doesn’t care much about hurting them now unless they’re physically hurting him. He doesn’t want to kill anyone. Is the messiah really-

His knife slips, dropping to the ground. Karako’s eyes flit to the cut on his palm, and for a second he thinks he sees bright red. 

He blinks. 

Purple. 

...He needs some sleep.


End file.
